Cold So Deep
by elviswhataguy
Summary: OUAT, late season one. Takes place in the Willow/Faith Wickedgeekycrossover 'verse. Willow Rosenberg meets Regina Mills. Because they should meet, really, shouldn't they?


**Notes:** I'd originally intended to upload this once the Wickedgeekyverse trilogy was complete, mostly because, when I first wrote it, it contained a couple of pretty big trilogy spoilers; but since putting the final part together is proving to be a little more tricky than expected, I've decided to upload it now (in a slightly altered, largely spoiler-free version). It was written during OUAT's second season, with the sort of half-formed notion that it might serve as a prologue to a long-form BtVS/OUAT crossover where the Dark Curse ends a little differently and SwanQueen is, of course, a thing; but, honestly, the latter show turned into such a trainwreck, the thought of writing that fic no longer holds any appeal for me; I've neither the skill nor the fortitude of the likes of coalitiongirl, who consistently manages to turn the shamefully squandered potential of the TV show into some of the most compelling, insightful and entertaining fic you'll ever read.

However, since the initial idea for this fic comprised a single thought: _Willow meets Regina_ , I've decided that it stands on its own enough to count as a completed work. Please enjoy.

* * *

 **Cold So Deep**

While Faith's inside the Rabbit Hole, trying to get back at Willow for not talking to her by flirting with the cute waitress from Granny's Bed and Breakfast and the attendant diner, Willow stands in the alleyway outside and takes a couple of deep breaths, leaning back against the wall to steady herself.

Three sheets to the wind - maybe even four sheets - but, despite the whole not-talking-to-Faith thing, she's having fun. Willow smiles to herself, tucks her hands into the front pockets of her jeans, and squints down at the ground still wet from an afternoon rainfall courtesy of an overcast sky as murky as the water lapping at the seawall down by the harbor. She braces herself a little more firmly against the brickwork at her back to stop herself sliding down to the pavement and closes her eyes.

At first, she thinks the _click-clack_ noise in her head is some bizarre result of the mystery cocktail Ruby had slid in front of her fifteen minutes ago, but it quickly becomes evident that Willow's listening to the sound of heels on the sidewalk at the front of the building. Opening her eyes again, she sees the figure pass by at a brisk pace, then the _click-clacking_ stops for a second, then starts up again. Willow blinks as the owner of the heels appears once more at the entrance of the alley.

The figure approaches and the woman stops in front of her, just a few feet away from a lantern attached to the wall. She's kind of attractive, Willow thinks - in a super-hot-kind-of-attractive way - impeccably dressed in expensive-looking grey slacks, pristine white shirt, and dark overcoat; and her shoes – Buffy would probably know the designer – are impossibly high.

The woman's eyes narrow in curiosity. "Who are you?" she asks. She sounds like a box of dark chocolates, but, not the ones with nuts in them. More like the caramel or the ones with red liquidy stuff in the center.

"I'm Willow," says Willow who, in turn, probably sounds like a bag of inebriated marshmallows. Her tongue feels thick and fuzzy.

The woman smiles slowly, baring teeth, in a way that makes Willow think about Shark Week. It's kind of hot and creepy at the same time and Willow doesn't know how she does that.

(Faith would know, 'cause Faith can do that kind of smile too. Because Faith's a selfish, immature jerk who Willow's not talking to right now.)

"Ah, Willow … Rosenberg, isn't it?" The woman pauses long enough to let a tiny smirk materialize. "I believe your significant other told my sheriff to go _eff_ herself this morning."

Willow grimaces and tries to stand a little straighter. "Um, yeah, about that … see, the sheriff was bein' kinda nosy and—wait." She frowns. " _Your_ sheriff?"

The woman leans a little closer. "Regina Mills," she says in an almost conspiratorial-sounding whisper. "I'm the Mayor."

Willow emits a snorty sort of guffaw. "You're _Regina_?" she says, recalling the stories from Ruby and her two friends earlier that evening. "Oh, boy …"

The Mayor's eyes darken, although another hot and creepy smile shows up to provide some – albeit unsteady – balance. "Did I say something funny, Ms Rosenberg?"

"No, I … I guess I just didn't expect you to be all … you know." Willow waves a hand abstractly in front of the other woman who, in response, arches a perfectly-shaped eyebrow.

"No, I'm not sure I do know."

Willow giggles, 'cause there's no way Regina Mills doesn't know what Willow's not-talking about. Nevertheless, she feels her face turn a little bit warm and, for a second, she wonders if she should ask the Mayor to hold on while she fetches the (selfish, immature) Slayer from the barroom, so Faith can look her up and down and say something like _smokin' hot_ or _bitchin'_ or whatever, before she goes back inside to flirt with the cute waitress some more.

Instead, Willow says, "So, Mayor … lady, what can I do ya for?"

Closer still, Regina Mills rests a hand on the wall above Willow's shoulder. "Magic," she hisses quietly, lips just a fraction away from Willow's ear. She smells like apples and expensive scotch. "I can feel it."

"Really? Magic? Um, I dunno what–"

"Don't be coy," says Regina Mills, straightening up again with a short sigh. "It's tiresome." She tilts her head to the side. "You didn't get that much magic from anyone here in Storybrooke, so …" The Mayor switches to Shark Week again. "It's all your own?"

Willow hesitates. So, apparently, the Mayor's a witch of some sort – and possibly not a good witch, or at least not the friendliest. Which means Willow probably needs to be a little less friendly herself. Schooling her features, Willow speaks in what she assumes is a low, formidable growl: "I am Willow … I am death. If you dare … uh … _blah-de-blah-blah_ …" She trails off with a goofy grin and slumps against the wall again, too cocktail-headed to be bothered remembering the rest of the spiel.

Regina Mills sighs, clearly irritated. " _What_ are you talking about?"

"Nuthin'," says Willow. "But, uh, yeah, the magic's all mine. Why d'you wanna know?"

"I just wonder if perhaps we could come to some sort of arrangement regarding your … gift."

"It's not a gift," Willow retorts with a pout. "I worked really hard to get this powerful."

"Yes, dear, of course you did." Mayor Mills places a hand on Willow's arm, the gesture giving rise to a warm, not-unpleasant shudder; Willow tells herself it's probably just a witch-thing. "I need magic," says Regina Mills.

"You lost yours?" Willow asks with a grin. "Where d'ya last see it? Maybe it slipped down the back of the sofa?"

The Mayor gives her a _look_ , the kind Willow imagines she gives her son when she's reprimanding him for some infraction or other. She thinks of the small boy who came running into the diner just after Faith told the Sheriff that f-word thing she told her. _Henry_ , she remembers. Poor little Henry with two mommies …

("Oh," says Mary Margaret, eyes wide. "But, not like _that_ … not in the way that the two of you … I mean, they _hate_ each other."

Ruby rolls her eyes and Ashley giggles.)

"So, whaddaya want magic for?" Willow amends.

Regina Mills looks thoughtful. "Let's just say I cast a spell some time ago that needs a little strengthening. I have _some_ magic left, but not enough."

Willow grins. "And what'cha gonna gimme for it?"

The Mayor studies her for a moment. "Well, there's money, of course … or I suppose there might be other things you're interested in." She touches Willow's arm again, this time with a single finger that she traces slowly up toward her shoulder.

Willow blinks and casts a quick glance at their surroundings. "Uh … here?"

Regina Mills takes her finger away with an impatient sigh. "Really, Ms Rosenberg, do I look like the kind of woman who enjoys cavorting in alleyways with complete strangers?"

Willow frowns. "And I do?"

"Not necessarily, but from what Sheriff Swan told me, your other half probably likes that sort of thing." The Mayor looks absently to the side for a second. "But, then, takes one to know one, I guess."

Willow snickers, then stops abruptly when Regina Mills gives her _that_ look again. Clearing her throat, she pushes herself to stand a little straighter once more and tries not to think about the large mansion she and Faith passed last night on their way to Granny's and whether that's more what the Mayor has in mind, cavorting-wise.

"I don't want money or … or whatever else you wanna trade," Willow says. "Don't get me wrong, you're … you know … but, I don't want that."

"I see," muses the Mayor. "Well, I'm sure … Faith, isn't it? I'm sure Faith's letting Ms Lucas know right now just how much she appreciates your loyalty." At Willow's questioning glance, she smirks again. "This is _my_ town, Ms Rosenberg. It's my business to know what's going on, including your True Love's tacky little hi-jinx with the town bicycle."

Willow snorts at the sheer, well, _silliness_ of the expression - _True Love_ \- like something from a fairy tale book. She makes a mental note to tell Faith about it once she's talking to her again, and it'll be one of those things that the two of them laugh about once in a while even if no one else thinks it's that funny. In the meantime, Regina Mills has apparently gone full-on B-word and Willow needs a good retort. "Well, Hot Lady Mayor Person, as a matter of fact, we don't really care about … you know, the 'loyalty' stuff. Didn't know _that_ , did ya?"

Regina Mills lifts an eyebrow. "How very progressive of you," she drawls. "And by 'progressive' I do, of course, mean 'depraved'."

But, Willow can't help thinking that, despite the bitchiness, the Mayor looks a little put-out about the fact that, even with all the rampant depravity ramping all over the place, Willow apparently isn't interested in sending any of that depravity her way, and Willow feels kind of bad about it.

"But, hey, no," she says. "It's not like … I mean, you're totally … 'cause, well, look at you, and with the mayor-thing goin' on and all. It's just, this whole conversation's a little bit weird and it's kinda freaking me out and I'm beginning to think it's maybe more like five sheets and I don't usually rush into these things anyway …"

"So, what _do_ you want?" the other woman asks, clipped and no-nonsense, like she wasn't just hinting heavily two seconds ago about the possibility of what would probably be really amazing not-alleyway mansion-sex.

"You don't have to give me anything," says Willow. "But, I should probably check first."

"Check?" Regina Mills cocks her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Willow smiles. "Just lemme take a little tour …" Grabbing the back of the Mayor's neck for leverage, with her other hand Willow reaches into the woman's chest and Regina Mills' mouth falls open in a loud gasp, eyes widening in shock. Instinctively, she grasps Willow's arm with both hands, the panicked gesture, ironically, helping to keep the intruding limb anchored. " _Shhh_ ," says Willow and moves her hand from the Mayor's neck, touching a finger to the woman's lips.

Inside, it's dark and cold, like winter. So much so that any guilt Willow might feel over the imposition is swept away by the sadness that washes over her. There's so much pain and loneliness and … _oh my fucking jesus what the heck_ …

"What have you _done_?" Willow breathes in a quiet hiss. "What _happened_ to you? Who did this to you?"

Regina Mills simply stares back, unmoving, mouth hanging open in a muted groan.

And then … _thank god_ … Willow feels it. A tiny spark … maybe more than one. Minute shreds of hope in a body that otherwise knows little more than hatred and darkness and vengeance and despair.

She withdraws her hand and Regina Mills staggers back on her four-inch heels, mouth still agape.

Despite the attempt at outrage, the Mayor's voice is shaky: "What the _hell_ was that?"

Willow bites her lip. "Feasibility study? Safety exam? And there's no way I'm giving you any magic."

Regina Mills' mouth tenses into a pinched, tight line and she leans close again, nostrils flaring. "I may not have the power that brought me here, but I can and will destroy you if need be."

" _Pffft_." Willow rolls her eyes. "You know how many times I've heard _that_ by now? And, for the record, I could flatten you _and_ your crappy little town in ten minutes, if I wanted."

To her credit, Regina Mills manages to carry on looking intensely pissed off and doesn't even blink.

"But," Willow continues, "I'm not gonna do that, 'cause most of the folk here seem pretty nice and I'm not _exactly_ sure what's goin' on yet, but I've got a pretty good idea."

"Oh, really?"

"Yup." Willow looks at the other woman, thinks about the hurt and the isolation and the tiny little sparks. She tries a warm, encouraging smile. "But, hey, it's not too late, you know. You don't have to be … the way you are. If you spent a little less time doing what you do, they'd probably love you back."

Regina Mills looks at her with an expression halfway between an angry glare and the horrible realization that Willow might be onto something. But, the expression doesn't last long.

"You're _drunk_ , Ms Rosenberg," she bites out with a dismissive sneer. "I suggest you and Faith leave Storybrooke first thing tomorrow, before I have you both arrested for … for … _something_. Enjoy your night."

And, with that, Regina Mills turns away, _click-clacks_ back toward the sidewalk and disappears around the corner.

"Yeah, Rosenberg, what the hell _was_ that?"

Willow turns to see Faith step out of the shadows beside the side door of the building. She grimaces as the Slayer approaches. "How much did you see?"

"A few things, including the hands- _in_ investigation." Faith pulls a cigarette from the pack in her hand and starts to fumble through her pockets for a lighter. "So, what's the sitch?"

"Um, that weird feeling I got when we crossed the town border? And, you know, you couldn't see the 'Welcome' sign and I could? Well, I think the mayor's evil and she's got the town under a curse – some multiple personality mojo or something." Willow smiles. "Plus, hate to break it to ya … I don't think she knows it yet, but, Ruby might be a wolf."

Faith cocks an amused eyebrow. "Guess that means she's been barking up the wrong one of us."

"Funny," says Willow. She pauses for a second, watching as Faith lights her cigarette. "Anyway, I'm not so sure she's the one who's been doing most of the barking."

A wry smile appears through a cloud of exhaled smoke. "You know me, Willow, pretty much all bark and no bite these days."

"You sound kinda sad about that."

Faith shakes her head. "You kidding? Your crappy taste in stopovers aside – which, by the way, that's the last fucking time you get to choose – I'm not doing so bad. Get to see my 'True Love' put the fear of god into a chick I'm pretty sure doesn't scare easy. Bitch is cold … can tell that much even without a magical feel-up." The Slayer grins. "Speaking of which, props for keeping it in your pants. Evil or not … _damn_."

"I didn't mean that 'loyalty' thing," says Willow, cringing a little. "I just said it 'cause she was bein' all bitchy and smug."

"Glad to hear it." Faith exhales another stream of smoke and raises a hopeful eyebrow. "So, does this mean you're talkin' to me again?"

"Maybe."

"Look," the Slayer sighs. "I'm sorry about the … altercation with the Sheriff. Guess she just hit those _Holier-Than-Thou-Blonde-Chick_ buttons."

"So, I guess I shouldn't mention you totally checking out the Holier Than Thou Blonde Chick's ass when she left the diner?"

"Uh, I don't think so, Willow." The indignant sneer that curls the Slayer's lip is perhaps a little _too_ nonchalant, but this is how they roll these days.

"Anyhow, we should probably rally the troops," Willow says. "I think this thing's pretty big."

"Sounds like a plan."

("Storybrooke? Stupid Google thingy. I can't find it."

"I'm not sure you'll find it on the map, Buffy. I'll give you directions and meet you guys at the border."

"Okay. But, they've got cable, right?")

Faith tosses her cigarette beside a nearby dumpster, where it lands in a shallow puddle. She turns to Willow as she yanks the side door open again.

"So, evil mayor, huh?" The Slayer ponders the information, then shrugs as they re-enter the bar. "I can work with that."


End file.
